The Modern Version Journals of Sweeney Todd
by Mr. Stench
Summary: More than a century after Sweeney Todd's death, his life appears once again through the words and pages of a brown leather journal. How were the entries found? What was written in the journal? Filled with wonder, heartbreak and agony; Sweeney Todd answers these questions and more through the words and spaces on the pages.
1. Author's Note

**Hello Reader,**

First off, **thank you** for looking into this story and reading this. Your support means so much to me and is what makes me enjoy writing, especially on the topic of Sweeney Todd.

 **Structure:** This book will start off with a Prologue and will tell the story of how Sweeney's journals were found in the first place. The Prologue has no real connection to the story behind Sweeney Todd's journals. The point is to just get information behind how they were found. The rest of the book will be his journals, starting in 1854. Each journal entry will be a new 'chapter,' titling the chapter with the date of which it was written.

 **Language:** The words and phrases they used in the 1800s are not the same as in the 2000s, so the text will be written in modern English, not the way Sweeney has written them.

 **History and Content:** The name 'Sweeney Todd' has a lot of history, stories, and plots behind it. These set of journals are based off of the 2007 film, "Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street," directed by Tim Burton. The content will be based off of the plot and time period in that film.

 **Point of View:** These journals will be in the point of view of Sweeney Todd himself, since indeed, he was the one who wrote them.

Any other questions or comments are welcome. Just comment on my page or on this section.

Thank You and Happy Reading!

-Mr. S

*I own no rights to the story or characters of _Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street.*_


	2. Prologue

_**August 19, 1961**_

I stroll through the streets of London, looking around for a specific street that I know I'm near. Looking around, my eyes find a street sign marked "Fleet St." I run towards it and down the road in seconds.  
Fleet street is less crowded than the street I just came off of, so I run faster.  
Shops all around me are old, broken, and decaying.  
Faster.  
I past them in a blurry hurry.  
Faster.  
I round the corner and see my destination in shock. I stop, abruptly and stare. 'Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pies' is hardly visible under the muck and rain tear above the shop's door.  
I slow and look around me. Not seeing a soul around, I head for the stairs where all the rumors roam.  
I turn the handle and startle when the bell _dings_ above me. I walk in slowly and look around.  
All the furniture is coated with layers of dust while glass pieces lay motionless across the vacant room. The draws that belong to the dresser are long gone and an open chest lays open against the wall. Black liquid lays on and around an ancient chair near the center of the room. Bending down, I run my fingers along the stains. Blood.  
I stand up, startled. The rumors, all of them, must be true.  
Long ago,many have told me of a barber and his companion, Nellie Lovett. He was murdered by my own flesh and blood while Nellie was never to be seen again. My great grandpa never talked about her. Never told anyone what happened to Nellie and would rather have an ax to his head than talk to anyone about what he knew. All my great grandpa ever said was, "I took care of it." So many are left believing Sweeney killed dear Nellie, since Toby was the one who ended Todd's life. Toby, my great grandpa, died with all the burden in his heart, with such despair for all his life.  
I walked around the floor boards that was known to be where Sweeney killed all the Innocents. That is what everyone decided to call the victims of Sweeney's rage.  
The grey London clouds move across the sky as I stare out the big bay, open windows. I move swiftly, to meet the fallen water on the other side.  
As I'm walking across the boards, my foot wobbles on a lose piece of wood. Frightened that the floor is caving in on me, I stay in my place for several seconds. Nothing.  
I gently move off the misplaced floor board, and bend over it.  
My fingers pry open the floor board to revel a cloud of dust.  
Coughing, I guide my hand into the now open hole.  
I pull out a box, covered in a sheet of dust. Carefully opening the wooden piece, I discover 6 beautifully sculptured silver knives.  
I gasp and quickly shut the wooden piece and sit the box down next to me.  
I look deeper into the hole and see an illumination shadow in the dust.  
I reach in and pull out an ancient brown leather journal.  
Excitement and curiosity runs through my veins as I open to the first page.


End file.
